


The plentiful talents of Jarett Howarth

by LifeOfRoseAngel



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Flirting, I ship Gilmore and Happiness, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-15 00:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11219274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeOfRoseAngel/pseuds/LifeOfRoseAngel
Summary: Keyleth and Vax ask Jarett to keep an eye on Gilmore for them, he agrees and might take the job to a whole new level.//I'm really bad at summaries, this is supposed to be a happy (slightly smutty later) story, exploring a little of the world Matt Mercer created beyond what is actually said.





	The plentiful talents of Jarett Howarth

”And Jarett, will you keep an eye on Gilmore for us?” Asked Keyleth.  
”Is he alright?”  
”I think he’s just… working himself a bit much”  
”Stretched a little thin,” added Vax.  
”I may have noticed it myself. I will do this for you.”  
”Thank you.”  
”My pleasure.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

”Thank you, Gilmore!”  
”My pleasure,” The words fade with the light of the teleportation siegil and the wide, as the welcoming signature smile of Shaun Gilmore faded as well. He ran a hand along his sweat-covered forehead and a sigh escaped him, before he let himself fumble for a chair and sit down. He barely kept his breakfast down. Silence overtook the little townhouse, given to him by Cassandra when it was decided that he would be staying in Whitestone. It was much larger than his private quarters, in the back of Gilmores Glorious Goods, had been and… cosier. Well, not so much since the assassination attempt. Remnants of that night still lay scattered about the place. Cracks in the wall from where he had thrown his assailant, a broken mirror leaning against the wall where it had fallen, and scattered, broken knickknacks here and there. He kept telling himself he’d have to clean up some time. But some time never seemed to come around.  
Pushing against the table, he stood, gathered the crumb-covered plate of his breakfast and walked to the kitchen area, where he put it down by the sink. Sherri would get it later. The woman was motherhenning him lately, ushering him about like a baby chick, making sure he remembered to bathe, eat and sleep sufficiently, and after the fright he had given her in Emon, when the wounds of the Chroma Conclave had almost claimed him, he was resigned to let her. It seemed to make her feel better. But he should probably find a way to put her skillset to better use, while she couldn’t match people like Allura in arcane skill, she was wasted as his glorified babysitter, no matter how much comfort it actually brought him.  
A light knocking sound broke him out of his thoughts, just as he had decided to go look for his employee, well former employee, and a furrow dug itself between his brows. “Just a moment,” he called out to the door. He filled his hands with water from the kitchen sink, splashing it up on his face and grabbed a rag. He was still dapping his face, when he opened the front door.  
Standing on the other side, with one hand resting on the scabbard of his sword and his weight tilted slightly towards his right foot, was a Marqusian man. Short, coarse looking black hair, scruff covering his chin and jawline, and dark, almond shaped eyes. “Can I help you?” He looked vaguely familiar, one of Vox Machinas guards, though try as he might, he just could not grasp the memory of his name – Jacob? Jorren?  
The young man twitched a smile. “Please, Mister Gilmore, it is I who will be helping you.”  
“I’m afraid I don’t understand; helping with what?” Shaun raised an eyebrow. “And just Gilmore if you please,” He added.  
“I will be coming to check up on you occasionally, making sure you do not, how you say, overexert yourself.”  
“I’m afraid that job is already taken, besides,” His mouth stretched into a dazzling smile, that usually made people seem more at ease and quelled even Sherris most worried frown. “I’m fine,” he promised, grasping the edge of the door, making to pull it closed – only to find it stopped by a large, heavy boot.  
“Ah-ah. I am afraid I am committed to this job.”  
“Well, I release you of it.”  
“You cannot.”  
A moment of silence stretched. Dark eyes met dark eyes. A struggle of wills.  
“Listen, young man –“  
“Jarett.”  
“Jarett.” Gilmore turned the name on his tongue. “I have no need another babysitter, I have one already, and that is one too many – I’m sure your talents are better used somewhere else.” The other man took a step forward, now standing in the frame of the door, Shaun noticed that he was a good inch, inch and a half, taller than he had initially expected. His relaxed stance had masqueraded his true height.  
“I assure you, I have plenty of talents to go around, Mister Gilmore.” A smirk danced around the edges of the other mans lips. Now, up close, he could tell that Jarett was a shade or so darker skinned than his, and his eyes too were slightly darker than Gilmores own. There was a smell of fresh air, leather and leather oils about him.  
“I’m sure you do,” Shaun’s dark voice rumbled slightly in his chest and he looked puzzled at him, finding himself looking slightly upwards at the other man.  
“I will return later,” And with that, he swept a step back, bringing his hand to his chest and extending the other, bowing just slightly. “Be pleased.” There was amusement in his voice.  
“Be pleased.” Gilmore echoed as Jarett turned and walked away, the midday sun blazing above. 

 

“We need to send spies back into Emon,” the jarring voice of Seeker Assum rung out in the council chambers, which was a fancy name for the dinning hall of Castle Whitestone, his words punctuated by a finger stabbing at the table with each syllable. He was half standing, half leaning across the table, looking intently at Allura Vysoren.  
”There is no one here trained for that sort of infiltration, Assum,” Allura repeated softly, patiently with a seemingly unending air of being beyond reproach.  
“They would not need to be, as I have an entire network there, only I cannot get what they have, as they cannot leave the city,” frustration crept into his voice. “Someone must be able to—“ Gilmore tuned him out. Tuned the entire council out, as he yawned into the back of his hand. The incantation above the city, of which he had to keep constant concentration, buzzed in the back of his mind like a persistent mosquito. Whenever he felt the buzzing fade, he expended a little more of his arcane power into it. It had been exciting at first, the creation process of it, stretching old arcane muscles he hadn’t played with since before he had opened up shop in Emon. He hadn’t lied when he had told Vox Machina that there was some pleasure to this task. Only now, he was basically reduced to incantions fuel. And since he had expended some arcane energy already today, on sending Vox Machina to his old home in Marquet, he felt himself more tired than ever. He had felt more than a little tempted to go with the infamous group of adventurers to Marquet, just to see the place once again. Just a peek. 

Dark eyes wandered to the window, where the glow of the afternoon sun shone through, dotting the war council table – dinner table – with glowing, squares that had crept slowly from one end of the table to the other, as the day had pressed on. He could hear Cassandras voice join in the current discussion and his gaze wandered to the woman. It was easy to forget that she was just a girl, the way she carried herself. Back straight, voice even and eyes that always seemed a little hard around the edges.  
A hand shook his shoulder gently. He turned his head and found a pitying smile directed at him, light blue eyes shinning with empathy. “The meeting is over, Shaun,” Alluras soft, melodic voice told him.  
“Ah. Yes. Good.” He cleared his throat, bringing forth a bright smile that seemed to smooth the empathetic look she wore a bit, although not much. She carried the burden of the incantation on the days when he did not, so she knew.  
“You should get some sleep,” she noted, stepping away, folding her hands into the long, draped sleeves of her dress as she did, and he stood.  
“Next on my list,” he promised. “What was decided?”  
“About what?”  
“The spies.”  
“Assum will be training one or two of the currently training, defence soldiers, hopefully, awaiting Cassandra’s approval, we will be able to send someone back into Emon to gather what information Assums network may have.”  
Gilmore nodded, the braid at the edge of his chin, decorated with a single gold bead swung slightly with the motion. “Good. Good. What time is it?”  
“From the sun, I’d say almost seven o’clock,” she answered, but her attention was removed from him, to a spot behind him, at pleasant smile creeping across her lips as she waved softly. He turned his head slightly and could see Kima out of the corner of his eye. “I will see you on the morrow, Gilmore, take care,” she stressed the two last words slightly, petting his shoulder softly as she passed and made eyecontact one last time, before walking with hurried steps towards the halfling paladin, impatiently waiting at the door.  
Left alone in the dinning hall, Shaun gathered his messily written notes slowly, and made for the door. There was a chill in the air when he stepped outside, and he pulled his dark purple coat tighter around his shoulders. It was not nearly as fine as the one that had been ruined under the dragon attack, but it was warm. Notes tugged under his arm, the buzz of the incantation in the back of his mind, and wind batting softly at his chin braid, he made his way back to his townhouse.

 

He was almost there, already dreamily fantasizing about his soft mattress, when a slowly rising pillar of smoke, coming from his chimney, caught his attention. An entirely new fantasy of warm food made his mouth flood with saliva and he quickened his step. He pushed the door open, warmth greeting him and making his cool cheeks prickle with it – and the smell, the smell was cooking, spiced meats and vegetables. And he groaned in delight.  
“Sherri, I swear, should I ever father children, you will receive my first born,” he promised, shrugging off his coat.  
“That is a very generous offer indeed, Mister Gilmore, I shall let her know you have offered this.”  
Shaun turned and faced a decidedly not female face. A broadly smirking face. Shaun frowned. “How did you –“  
“Your little rogue is not the only one who can pick a lock, and as I said,” He gestured to himself with a wooden spoon. “Plenty of talents.”  
“I see.” His eyes where still narrowed, but a smile quirked one side of his mouth but it quickly fell away as he pushed off his leather shoes. “He is not my rogue.”  
“Hm?” The former Greyskull keep guard had turned towards the kitchen again.  
“Vax’Ildan. He is not my rogue.” The words were casually said, as Gilmore moved towards the open space of the kitcen.  
“Whatever you say, Mister Gilmore,” answered Jarett, dipping the spoon back in the cooking pot.  
The smell of the cooking dish was familiar to a degree, where it was actually distracting Shaun from complaining about the fact that Jarett was back and babysitting. “What is this?” He leaned in over the pot, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. The scent was… homely.  
“Porkolt.” As soon as he said the name, Shaun was assaulted with memories of the flavourful, comfort food, not a rare treat, but rather a meal so common and easy to do a child could make it. He had cooked it for parents often. “It is almost done. Take a seat,” dark brown eyes regarded him with a sideglance. “Before you fall down. You look ready to pass out.”  
Gilmore complied, sinking down into one of his dinner chairs. “I haven’t had porkolt in forever,” he said. “It’s been years.”  
“It is a poor mans imitation,” Jarett confessed. “I have no fusaka to spice it. Shorthalt promised to bring me some from Ank’Harel,” He brought down two bowls from a cupboard, already seemingly intimately familiar with Gilmores kitchen – even more so than Gilmore was himself. If he had asked where to find bowls, he wouldn’t have been able to answer him.  
“That is alright. We never had it in my village, and I’ve found I don’t have a taste for it,”  
“You don’t like fusaka?!” Bushy, dark brows knitted at him as a bowl was placed in front of him. “How can you even call yourself Marqusian, if you do not like fusaka?” he bristled, as he unceremoniously sat down, bringing his spoon into the dish. “When the gnome brings back the fusaka I will make you Porkolt with fusaka – it is good, you will see, my porkolt is famous,” he shovelled a spoonful into his mouth hungrily. He wasn’t dressed in his leathers now as he had been earlier, just a beige-y, coarse looking button shirt with the sleeves cut off at the elbows, and dark pants. Gilmore lifted his own spoon and ate. The dish was quite wonderful. The spices where mixed a little differently from what he remembered, and a few new ones mixed in he had never had in this context before, but it was good and hearty. He could almost feel himself growing stronger, sturdier with each bite of his homeland dish.  
The room fell quiet as the two men ate, until Jarett finished his portion, groaning deeply as he settled back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head, as relaxed as if this were his home. “So, where are you from in Marquet, he who does not enjoy the fusaka?”  
At least he had ceased with the _Mister_ Gilmore.  
“A small desert town. Not far from Ank’Harel,” Gilmore answered, finishing his own bowl. He was full, warm and relaxed himself, sleepily yawning.  
“Sounds charming,” Jarett remarked.  
“Not really.”  
“Oh?”  
“Honestly, I could not wait to get out of there when I was young,” He ran a hand along the back of his neck. He still felt a little pang of guilt when admitting this. His childhood had been decent, if slightly on the poorer side. He had never been actually poor, nor gone hungry, but his youth had been nowhere near as glorious as it would later become. “It was dull. Smalltown people have small minds.” He cleared his throat lightly. “What about you?”  
“Ank’Harel. All my life.”  
“Do you miss it?”  
“Every day.”  
Gilmore crooked his head slightly. “So why not go back?” he asked and Jarett made a face.  
“I cannot.” He pressed his lips into a thin line and shrugged softly. “I made some... mistakes in my youth – if I were to return, I would most likely be thrown in jail.”  
“Would these mistakes have anything to do with your plentiful talents?” Gilmore nodded towards his door, which he had locked before leaving for the council meeting.  
“Perhaps.” His mouth stretched into a half-grin. Silence fell on them again. “Well, we should get you into bed, yes?”  
“Why, that does sound like an enticing offer, Jarett, but I am afraid I’m much too tired for such activities,” There was a sparkle of humour in his eyes as he drawled the words. The younger man stood from his chair and leaned in.  
“That is a shame indeed.” His face was deadpanned, serious. Slightly stunned, Gilmore raised his brows slightly and his mouth fell open. “I am kidding you,” Jaretts face cracked in a wide grin. He picked up the bowls and carried them to the sink, as Shaun got to his feet. He could hear low chuckling from the former keep guard, turned soldier/babysitter. “Go to bed sorcerer, I will finish these dishes and let myself out,” He smiled over his shoulder.  
“Fine. Goodnight Jarett.”  
“Goodnight, Mister Gilmore.”  
Shaun shook his head and walked towards his bedroom door, with the sound of a soft melody, whistled low by the man wishing dishes in his kitchen. Unconsciousness took him immediately as his head hit his pillow and he drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments keep the creativity flowing! Please, share your thoughts! There will be atleast one more chapter.


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